Chapter 241: Still a Great Battle (Part 2)

  "Magic trap?" In mid-air, Talise looked at the column of fire shooting into the sky in astonishment. Immediately, she also shouted loudly, "Be careful."

  Two white figures flashed out from the shadows of the trees on both sides, two sword lights like bolts of white silk lashing towards the two of them. The sword lights were veteran, perfectly rounded, and bright as lightning—the kind that required at least twenty years of dedicated practice to achieve.

  Talise spun, twisted her waist, and drew her sword. A sword light, though not as veteran, slid out from her waist—more perfectly rounded and bright as lightning than the other two—and she actually managed to parry the two sword lights coming from the left and right at the same time. With two sounds of impact, one after the other, she had blocked the two simultaneous attacks with just one sword.

  Her sword definitely hadn't been honed for twenty years, but she had talent, had trained hard, and had guidance from perhaps the best teacher on the continent. These things were often more useful than just years of practice.

  Talise landed, brandishing her long sword, and two auxiliary white magic spells instantly lit up on her body. Although her gaze was on the two assailants on the left and right, her voice already held a hint of pride: "This time I was the one who reminded you and helped you block a sword..."

  But she immediately saw that Ethan, who had leaped up with her, did not land. Instead, he shot towards the depths of the forest like a bolt of lightning tearing through the sky. It wasn't that he was moving on his own; someone was chasing him. A gray figure was pressing hard against him from behind, a black, fang-like longsword in his hand intertwined with Ethan's.

  Clang! A huge, long, ear-piercing sound of metal striking metal rang out as Ethan and the other's figure flashed past, even drowning out the deafening explosions from afar. The moment their weapons met, there was no sound at all. Instead, it was this lock that produced a giant roar, as if thousands of people were striking each other at once.

  From the moment he leaped into the air, Ethan didn't even glance at the flame magic trap. As for the two swordsmen who darted out from the sides, he didn't look, didn't pay attention. He didn't dare to pay attention. Because at the very instant he rose, a killing intent so overwhelming that it made it impossible to notice anything else had already appeared behind him.

  The appearance of this aura had no sign whatsoever; it was as if it had naturally emerged from the air itself. This aura was not strong, nor ferocious, not baring its fangs and brandishing its claws like the killing intent of others. It was completely simple and unadorned, even peaceful and natural, nakedly expressing the very simple meaning within it.

  The meaning of making people die. A kind of simple, plain, and irresistible feeling that told people life is just like this, and in the end, one cannot escape death.

  The appearance of this aura was so sudden and natural that if Ethan's perception, completely blended with his meditation technique, were not so keen, he would not have detected it at all. If this were not next to the Sunwell, where the strange fluctuation gave him even more power and perception, even if he could have sensed it, he would surely have been a moment too late, and that single strike would have silently sliced him in two from behind.

  In mid-air, he turned and drew his blade, just in time to block this silent, sudden strike from behind. He also saw this assailant.

  This was a middle-aged man with a wooden face. Even though he was launching a deadly sneak attack, this man's expression and gaze were one of almost wooden naturalness, as if he were just doing a perfectly ordinary thing. This expression and the calm, naked killing intent emanating from this strike were a perfect, natural fit. This was a person who saw killing as an utterly ordinary matter, even as a natural part of life.

  Only such a person could strike such a terrifying blow from behind, silently and without a trace. Only after the blade was out would it be detected by people, due to the killing intent and momentum carried by the blade itself.

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  In the middle-aged man's hand was a jet-black, longsword, slender like a viper's fang, with barbs on its spine. This sword, however, was the complete opposite of its wielder—ferocious to the extreme, as if it were forged from the words "killing" and "death" amidst the roars of countless wronged souls.

  Ethan was just able to block this strike. That didn't mean he had completely parried it. The jet-black longsword trembled violently, trying to break through his defense, and he desperately resisted. Although the two swords were locked together, they were grinding, frictioning, and chopping against each other at an extremely high frequency and speed. Battle Qi, killing intent, and momentum were also clashing and resisting through these two swords.

  The person was sent flying backward by this strike from behind, and his momentum was also completely suppressed. The power, killing intent, technique, and momentum in this single strike were completely integrated with this person's mind and soul. Although it wasn't ferocious or terrifying, it was pervasive and irresistible. Ethan felt that his defenses could be breached at any moment.

  Although it was just a sneak attack, from this single strike alone, the state where this person's own temperament and soul were one with his attack meant that this person was absolutely a master whose martial skill and killing intent had already transcended the mortal realm, like Roland or Lancelot.

  Flying backward, his feet finally touched the ground, but he continued to retreat. This parry had not completely blocked the strike. The blade, the muscles in his hands, and the Battle Qi in his body were all groaning together, on the verge of giving out at any moment.

  Ethan suddenly released his blade with one hand. A large cluster of dark green flames flashed in his palm and he pressed it towards the man. The unique, putrid stench of Necromancy and the deathly green color made it clear at a glance that this was no ordinary flame.

  He was gambling, betting that this person would not fight him desperately. Even if this person could seriously injure or even kill him with this strike, this cluster of flames would also burn on his body, and the result of being burned by this flame, a mixture of Necromancy, would definitely not be any lighter than taking this strike.

  As expected, even though Ethan himself had already released his defense and parry, this person did not dare to continue his strike. He could only kick out, planting a foot on Ethan's chest and using the force to fly backward.

  Pfft! A mouthful of blood sprayed wildly. Ethan felt that this kick seemed not to have landed on his chest, but had directly stomped into his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys and grinded them, almost making him spit out his own heart and lungs along with this mouthful of blood. But as this mouthful of blood sprayed out, the cluster of deathly green flames in his hand also formed into a fireball and shot out with a boom, following the man's retreating figure.

  Before he had finished spitting this mouthful of blood, he sheathed his blade and fired continuously with both hands. Two, four, six, eight green fireballs whistled out from his hands like a repeating crossbow, spinning towards the man along different curves, directions, and at different times. The air suddenly grew hot, and it was the kind of heat from burning rotting corpses. The smell of death and decay was so strong that one wished they could cut off their own nose.

  This time, a hint of surprise also appeared on this assailant's wooden face. This was no longer a fireball, but more like a small meteor shower. Even a mage of the highest level probably couldn't fire continuously like a crossbow bolt.

  While flying back, he struck out with his blade. The black, fang-like longsword directly pierced through the fireball in the center. The fireball did not explode; it was simply skewered onto the blade like a piece of fruit. He continued to retreat, the black longsword constantly stabbing out. The flying, spinning fireballs were all actually skewered onto the blade.

  He stood his ground. The fireballs on the blade had merged into a giant green flame cluster. The man's expression also looked somewhat grave and strained. He drew his blade out from this fireball, holding it with both hands, one foot forward and one back. With a low roar like muffled thunder, he chopped down. A flash of black light passed through, and this green Necromantic fireball was split open from the middle. The remaining momentum of this black blade light continued to chop towards Ethan.

  Ethan sidestepped. The large tree behind him let out an unpleasant creak as it was split in two by the slash of the blade. This entire sequence of parrying and slashing was as smooth as flowing water, perfectly natural, and even prevented Ethan from continuing his pursuit, worthy of being called the pinnacle of martial skill.

  The fireball split in two, but it did not explode and still did not disappear, instead becoming two clusters of green flames that fell to the ground. Two flashes of white light appeared in the man's hand. The green flames vanished into smoke upon touching the light.

  Ethan let out a long breath. The healing magic only circulated through his body once and healed all his injuries. Although the Sunwell's fluctuation was still weak, it still provided a considerable boost to his magical power. Having opened a distance between them, he finally took a good look at this assailant, his heart filled with uncertainty and shock. If this were not Whispering Woods, if he were not next to the Sunwell, he would probably already be dead.

  This person did not attack again either, but was sizing up Ethan. It seemed that this failed sneak attack had also surprised him considerably. He scraped his eyes over Ethan with a look like he was planing wood, then finally spoke: "It was you who killed Eschol?"

  Ethan still wore a mask, but from their exchange just now, especially the repeating Necromantic Fireball spell, it was almost an identifier of his identity. The story of the assassin who assassinated Archbishop Eschol using Necromancy had long been circulating in Celeste.

  "Who are you?" Ethan asked. This person had just used white magic, but to be able to pierce, merge, and then split a fireball containing Necromancy with a single strike, it was impossible to achieve this with just his high martial skill and thick Battle Qi. The only possibility was that the black longsword was also imbued with Necromancy.

  "My lord Tamika, it's Knight Talise," the two assailants from the side spoke up. After being parried by Talise, they had also recognized each other.

  "My lord Tamika, what are you doing here?" Talise walked over, looking at the assailant in surprise. Although few in Celeste knew of this mysterious knight, Talise, as Lancelot's disciple and one of the Temple Knights, at least recognized him.

  "Knight Talise, did Lord Lancelot send you out to train so you could mingle with this kind of person?" Knight Tamika did not look at Talise, but kept his eyes fixed on Ethan.